Woebegone (or Karamazov) Publishers

Hello brothers,

As ever, a million things to talk about and I hope we can do so face to face around July 6ish. We're in a swirl of complexities between my commitment at a Paris conference 'til July 4 and Katerina's hope to depart in the less expensive month of June, the ramifications of the boys' missing scout camp, etc. But heck and high water, I will be in Chicago/west by July 6.

Jon, all too briefly, your Dostoevsky study was and is a fascinating specimen of the best undergraduate program imaginable: that is not a condescending statement, as I would also hope graduate coursework would encourage such a disciplined and personal response. One of the many reasons I count FMD as my greatest literary influence, alongside Shakespeare, is that his Underground Man, Raskolnikov and Brothers Karamazov are infinite discussions, as your exam has adumbrated. The 'fill' of his lesser novels Poor Folk, The Gambler and The Eternal Husband, his 'secondary' novels The Idiot, The Possessed and The Adolescent, his installments in Diary of a Writer, including the exquisite short story "Bobek" and "A Nasty Story". There's no way to whittle him down, but a great way to do the opposite is to explore, a la your exam essay, the most complex 'antagonist' in literature: Svidrigailov. Harold Bloom, who sits as Lord Plushbottom at Yale University, only esteems Shakespeare's Iago as a more compelling voice of...evil? No one knows...

Anyway, without making Woebegone Productions too much a diary (which I'm sure Garrison does, more or less), Emma had a fascinating weekend which included an advancement, if possible, from her last year's dance performance of Bach's aria for Suite #2 in D major (which shall be played at my funeral): all day yesterday she rehearsed and performed at Bohenice, the expansive mental health facility of north Prague, where summer festivals bring in intriguing musical acts. I thought of Andrew's fencing, Tilo's trombone, all other endeavors from our kids and cousins, and all the more loved being a dad in the audience. Today Emma excitedly played with her youngest cousin, 2-year-old Josefina, and the 85-year-old grandma of Josefina: predictably in their indoor playing with a 59-cent supermart ball, an antique cup and saucer was hit and smashed to the terracote floor. I could only imagine the 2 and 6 and 85-year-old looking at each other to measure blame and wiggle room. Luckily, the hostess, my sister-in-law Lucie, was out of the room, so the 'shit didn't hit the fan'. The remaining hour of our visit was biding time, hoping the crime would remain undiscovered. The husband of the 85-year-old saw Emma's tearful face and proceeded to show her a dozen magic tricks, all of them pretty good and none of them obfuscating the crime on her mind. But, thank grace and short memory, we left the party undiscovered and Emma singing indiscriminately in the back seat all the way home.

I relay all this because a) I needed the laugh and b) I wondered how narratives take what's real and publishes what may be found out. For instance, I could see a wonderfully deep short story--novella, even--on the Steinmetz family. Never mind that I was beyond head over heals for Tammy, I was completely absorbed in your recall, Jon, of Scoop's insurance scam after the tornado, or Naomi's misguided gall after Roxanne's death. Couldn't Woebegon (or Karamazov) Publishers relay the aesthetic of that, regardless of 'those who'd know (and be embarrassed)'? One might ask, 'well, why should anyone else know?' My response is: it makes damned good literature. There is an immense but perhaps immeasurable difference between between bar-room yarns and the grist for thematic stories: Dad's cousin Doug and his demise at the Omaha racetrack provides such an example.

My days have been rather preoccupied between quotidian tasks, the 1989 dominoes in north Africa and several online forums for the International Baccalaureate program: I'm aiming eventually to become 50% employed as an at-home facilitator of workshops and courses in literature. I never thought I'd want such an eventuality, let alone be solicited for the need, and I don't yet know if that 50% is realistically at hand.  BUT, what I do know is that I would never do anything online that would make life worse. In other words, I could remain in the conventional classroom and will do so, except that the online opportunities are doing enough to fulfill my sense of literature advancement (and that I could add to this evolution).

To 'keep it real', I'm jamming with Ben and Joey (occasionally Em plinks on her xylophone) every other evening: we're playing about eight songs at present, including "Rosaline", "Stay", "The Very Scary Flood", "Tin Roof", "Neruda's #20", "Framing Device", "The Tempest: Act 4", "Break Back, Baby"--these titles are all 'placeholders', but all in effort to turn their own corners. With no illusions that they'll deliver the golden ticket, I'm viewing these songs and all that lurk within as our most important investment: our life insurance is underwritten by AIG, for God's sake!

All for now--sorry for the stream-of-consciousness, but wanted to keep the spirit vibrant in these last cold days of January!

Go Packers and Bulls--one or the other cannot lose!

Dan